Vantage Points
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #11 A day at a popular amusement park goes sour for T'Beth and McCoy while she is visiting her father on Earth. Meanwhile, Spock and Lauren Fielding have their own interlude as their relationship slowly advances.
1. Chapter 1

Deep in thought, Spock stood gazing out his apartment window as the sun dipped toward the horizon. His eyes lingered on the vivid blue sky with its scattering of clouds, on the extravagance of trees casting long shadows over the Academy greens. He had been spending the summer Earthside, designing new curriculum for his trainees and overseeing maintenance on the Enterprise. An entire year had gone by since his health was deemed adequate, once more, for command. The months had passed swiftly, due in part to an evolving relationship…

A knocking sound roused Spock from his reverie. Straightening his uniform jacket, he went to open the door.

His guest offered him a warm smile and said, "Captain. I hope I'm not too early..."

"Lauren." Spock inclined his head to the young woman. "Please come in. I am ready for you."

Indeed, the external sound damper was already engaged in preparation for the day's musical session—one of an ongoing series he had quietly initiated during the last training voyage. There was a sense of the clandestine in these private interludes that Spock rather enjoyed.

Doctor Fielding entered, carrying a flute case and bringing with her the heady scent of gardenias. Spock led her to the small sitting room where his own flute awaited. Under her weekly tutelage and his own private study, he had easily mastered the fingering and had no difficulty accompanying her in today's "Lord of the Rings" arrangement for two flutes. It was a simple but beautiful piece. As the last notes faded, he lowered his flute and gazed upon his lovely accompanist.

A discordant sound intruded. As he was expecting an important call, he had not turned off his phone. Excusing himself, he went to his corner desk. A dark-haired girl appeared on the screen and said, "Hi!"

Some indication of his shock must have reached Spock's face, for the child giggled delightedly. "Oh Father, I guess I surprised _you_ , alright!"

Spock regarded his daughter with a stern expression. He had left T'Beth in her grandparent's care on Vulcan, yet now she was speaking to him from an Earth phone link. Considering her past exploits, Spock could not help thinking she had embarked on some new mischief. "T'Beth. What are you doing on Earth?"

She laughed again. "Don't you mean 'what on Earth are you doing'?" She looked offscreen as if someone there had spoken to her, and she began to get up.

"T'Beth!" Spock called. She cast him an amused glance before moving out of sight. A slender, gray-haired woman took her place on the screen. Spock was aware of every muscle in his body relaxing. "Mother," he said, feeling decidedly foolish. "Then you are with her."

Amanda gave him a polite smile. "Of course, Spock. We're in Minneapolis." The shell of a smile faded away completely. "Roger has died."

 _Roger._ The name conjured larger-than-life images of a bearish man given to outbursts of laughter and loud teasing, much to the chagrin of his young nephew. With a twinge of regret Spock realized that such childish memories were all he had of his aunt's husband. "I grieve with you," he said. "Please extend my condolences to your sister."

Amanda nodded. "There wasn't any funeral. I came anyway to spend a couple of weeks with Doris, and since T'Beth had never seen Earth…"

The girl appeared at her grandmother's shoulder, her face alight with excitement. "Can I come see you, Father? Can I come to California?"

Amanda shushed her and gave Spock an apologetic look. "I understand this is terribly short notice, but if you aren't too busy…for even a day or so…" Her eyes shifted and seemed to refocus on some part of the room behind Spock. The concurrent brightening of her expression made Spock acutely uncomfortable.

"Say, isn't that Doctor Fielding with you?"

Spock looked over his shoulder at Lauren, who smiled at Amanda and gave a little wave. Amanda waved back.

Turning so that his body shielded Lauren from any further scrutiny, he guided the conversation back to its original course. "It is well that you brought T'Beth with you. I'll see what I can arrange in regard to a visit, and call back."

T'Beth loosed a cry of happiness.

Amanda's eyes warmed. "Spock, I'm so glad. We'll let you get back to your company now."

There was a faint click and the images of his mother and daughter vanished. For a moment Spock remained seated, his eyes on the blank screen, his thoughts on the distant past.

"I…couldn't help but overhear that," Lauren said. "Was Roger a relative?"

"An uncle…by marriage." He turned, knowing he would find Lauren's eyes on him. They were full of compassion.

"I'm so sorry," she said, rising gracefully. "You probably want to be alone."

"No." He stood up, quite certain that he did not want her to leave. "I knew him only from rare visits to Minneapolis in my childhood. I had little understanding of humans then."

Her gentle blue gaze seemed to delve inside him, seeing and touching areas he had always kept carefully guarded. With her, it did not feel like a violation.

"How sad," she said.

If she had been standing near, Spock might have reached out and touched her, but the intensity of the moment passed without having been acknowledged. Spock returned to his flute and in a deceptively calm voice said, "Shall we attempt the Paganini?"

Lauren sat down across from him and gave her attention to the music.

ooooo

T'Beth arrived in a breathless rush of excitement. Stepping off the midday air shuttle, she ran straight for Spock, her valise slapping against her leg. There was little traffic at the Academy depot during summer break. A lone pedestrian who stood gawking was no doubt relieved when T'Beth stopped short of colliding with the captain.

"Mek'hino," she grinned, using the Vulcan word for father.

"T'Beth-kam." With a nod and a lift of his eyebrow Spock catalogued the changes in his daughter. She had grown yet again since he last saw her, and not only in height. The tailored fit of her jumpsuit revealed a subtle widening about her hips, and her chest had lost some of the boyish flatness he remembered. In the space of a few months T'Beth had moved from childhood into adolescence. Yet looking at her now, it did not seem so ominous a transition as he had anticipated. T'Beth's golden-brown eyes held only honest affection, with no sign of the cunning one might expect from the daughter of a Sy-witch. She had made progress learning the mind rules taught to every Vulcan child. Hopefully the training would help regulate whatever telepathic ability she possessed and any unfortunate Sy tendencies toward seductive, controlling behavior. Picking up her valise, he guided the wide-eyed girl to his quarters in the faculty section.

There, behind closed doors, T'Beth threw her arms around him with complete disregard for Vulcan decorum. Spock was thankful she had restrained herself until they were alone so he could return the embrace in his own less demonstrative way, without risk of embarrassment.

"Oh, this must be a dream," she said, snuggling against his shoulder. "On Earth…at Starfleet Academy." She lifted her head and stepped back, her face aglow. "I can't believe I get to spend the rest of the summer with you— _and_ ride a starliner back to Vulcan all by myself."

Looking at her, Spock privately wondered how well the arrangement would work out. But the plans were set. "Remember, you will be in a day program when I am working—that is, unless Doctor McCoy or Admiral Kirk have time for you."

"I know." At that she darted away and dug through the contents of her luggage. She pulled out a hardbound book Spock recognized from his mother's collection on Vulcan. "Tales of the Old West", she quoted from the cover. "Gram said you read it when you were little."

"Yes," Spock conceded. At one time or another he had read all of his mother's books. "It is about that segment of Earth history known as the American frontier."

"Pioneers, outlaws, riverboat gamblers…" T'Beth's expression became rapturous as she clutched the book to her pubescent bosom. "And horses! Can you imagine? Why, it isn't just history—our own great-great-grandparents were a living part of it!"

"You would need to carry the regression a good deal further," Spock pointed out.

"Oh, that doesn't matter," T'Beth said with some impatience. "They _were_ there, and that's almost like _us_ being there. You know what I mean."

"Hmm." Spock restricted himself to the single vague utterance.

T'Beth's eyes took on a faraway look, as if she had momentarily slipped back in time to some frontier dream world she had created for herself. "I've never even been on a horse," she said sadly. "Have you?"

"No," Spock admitted. The equestrian urge was foreign to him, but he knew several humans who took great pleasure in horseback riding. Unfortunately they were either on leave or, like Admiral Kirk, deeply immersed in their duties.

"Has Doctor McCoy?" T'Beth persisted.

"I don't know." Spock found the image of McCoy on a horse rather amusing. "The good doctor has invited us to his home for dinner. You can ask him then."

T'Beth's jaw dropped in astonishment. "He's _cooking?"_

ooooo

"Of course I can cook," grumbled the doctor that evening. "I'm a McCoy!"

Despite the gruff posturing, T'Beth seemed to know that the doctor was not really angry. Spock watched her give McCoy a second hug, then sniff worriedly at the aromas drifting out from the kitchen. "Well, it _smells_ good, anyway," she said with exaggerated concern.

Spock was about to rebuke her for rudeness when McCoy pretended to take a swat at her. Spinning away, she easily escaped, only to be captivated by the view from a picture window. McCoy's San Francisco home was located in an historic section of the city, with a walled garden that thrived in the frequent fogs that rolled in off the Pacific Ocean. Gazing at the bright jumble of flowers, T'Beth sighed, "Oh, your yard is beautiful…"

McCoy moved close to Spock. "She's getting to be quite a beauty herself," he said under his breath. "Have you noticed? That kid of yours is growing up."

"Yes," Spock said. "I noticed."

T'Beth turned around and caught them looking at her. The flush of excitement tingeing her cheeks made her even more attractive. She asked, "Father, _what_ did you notice?"

Caught off guard, Spock cast about for some safe, partially honest reply. "The view," he said at last. "I was remarking on the loveliness of the view."

Smirking, McCoy escaped into the kitchen. A few moments later he reappeared with two platters of steaming food and placed them alongside the salad on the dining room table. "Dinner time!" he called unnecessarily.

T'Beth hurried into a seat and at McCoy's urging began to fill her plate. Spock followed her to the table and eyed the meal with some trepidation. Though he had refrained from any comment, he too had some doubts regarding the doctor's culinary ability.

McCoy noticed him holding back. "Spock, it's meatless spaghetti, for heaven's sake. You've eaten spaghetti, haven't you?"

"I have," Spock conceded.

McCoy plopped a serving of the heavily sauced pasta on Spock's plate, along with a strip of bread that reeked of butter and garlic. Then McCoy ignored him and settled into his own meal.

"Mmm, this _is_ good," T'Beth said between mouthfuls.

McCoy beamed. "My dear, you have what is called a 'discriminating palate'. It sometimes skips entire generations. You probably got it from the Grayson bloodline."

At the mention of bloodlines T'Beth lowered her fork and leaned forward. "Bones," she asked breathlessly, "do you know how to ride a horse?"

McCoy stared at her, a blank look on his face.

Repressing an urge to smile, Spock twirled a single strand of spaghetti onto his fork and cautiously tasted it. The blending of flavors was surprisingly good. He took a second, larger bite and waited for the conversation to unfold.

"A horse?" McCoy shrugged. "Sure, I rode a few times back in Georgia, when I was a kid—but I'm no horseman. Why?"

T'Beth listlessly toyed with her piece of bread. "I've only seen a real horse once. It was back on Ildarani, and I couldn't even get close to it."

Spock cleared his throat. "T'Beth has been reading about the days of the old American frontier."

"No kidding." McCoy broke into a grin. "Cowboys and Indians? Range wars? Gunfights? Hey, T'Beth, did Spock ever tell you about the time we shot it out at the OK Corral?"

Her face lit up. "Were there any horses?"

"Not even in our imagination," Spock answered dryly and returned to his food. He had discovered that the salad and bread were every bit as palatable as the main course.

"Wait a minute." McCoy snapped his fingers. "It's horses you're after, right?" T'Beth nodded eagerly. "And cowboy hats and wide open spaces and gritty little western towns?"

"Uh-huh," she said, "that's it!"

"Well then." McCoy settled back with a smug look that meant trouble. "I know just the place for _you_ , young lady. VantageWest."

Spock lost track of what he was doing and bit his tongue. The unexpected pain was all that prevented him from speaking out forcefully against the doctor's idea.

"VantageWest," McCoy rhapsodized like a commercial, "the ultimate in role-playing adventure. Leave your cares at the bar, mount up and ride through the vortex into the glory days of the Old West."

An appreciate audience, T'Beth bubbled over with fresh excitement. "There really _is_ such a place? Like going back in time? With horses and everything?"

"Yup," McCoy said gleefully.

Spock recovered sufficiently to put down his fork and say, "No. It is out of the question."

T'Beth turned to him, stricken. "But why not?"

"Yeah," demanded McCoy, "tell us why."

Spock could think of a dozen objections to the popular Vantage Park experiences with their obscuring of personal identity and surrender of control. But he knew that such arguments would not likely sway his daughter or Doctor McCoy. Finally he said, "She is too young."

"She is _not,_ " McCoy shot back. "The ads say 13 to 113."

"And I'm 13 now, remember?" T'Beth interjected. She faced Spock with tears in her eyes, hands clasped in supplication. "Oh _please,_ Father, can't we go? There's nothing like it on Vulcan."

"With good reason."

"But it sounds like such _fun!"_

Spock gazed at her, outwardly poised but inwardly torn. He often wondered if he had made the right choice in taking such a spirited child to live on Vulcan. There was no tolerance in that rigid culture for the kinds of amusement she craved. Sometimes she must find life there very dull.

"C'mon," wheedled McCoy, "cut the kid a little slack. Nothing's going to happen to her. Thousands of people go through the vortex every day. Let her have some fun for once."

Spock detected a scheming glint in McCoy's eyes, but he was not without a scheme or two of his own. Such enthusiasm as the doctor's should be put to good use. "You may have a point," he said grudgingly, "however…"

"However, nothing!" McCoy snapped. "This is a chance of a lifetime."

Spock let his expression soften a bit as he turned back to T'Beth. The child looked at him in an agony of pleading. Gently he told her, "I will not go into the vortex…but since McCoy feels so strongly about it, perhaps the good doctor would like to come along with us and accompany you on the adventure."

ooooo

Predictably, McCoy had agreed, which made him something of a hero in T'Beth's young eyes. But the more the doctor read about Vantage parks, the lower his spirits sank. The vortex process bore an uncomfortable resemblance to transporting, only instead of arriving at a predetermined location, the traveler dropped into some no man's land with a hazy sense of identity. It had seemed like such a great idea when he was planning it for T'Beth and Spock.

 _Damn tricky Vulcan,_ McCoy fumed, _sat there eating my food, figuring out new ways to make my life miserable. If he thinks for one instant that he'll actually get away with this…_

Sweet visions of revenge began to form in McCoy's mind…maybe a good practical joke? Inspiration struck and his lips curved into a calculating smile. If he had to go scramble his atoms, at least he wouldn't be the only one suffering. No, siree. There was one thing absolutely guaranteed to irritate the hell out of Spock…and McCoy knew just where to find her.

ooooo

Blazing sun reflected off the pavement, searing the three pedestrians moving past rows of skimmers and ground cars in the VantageWest parking lot. McCoy looked enviously at T'Beth in her breezy shorts and sandals. The closed shoes and long pants he wore trapped the heat. His bare forearms felt prickly and burnt. Sweating, he glanced at Spock. The black-clad captain looked like an old west outlaw, as cool as a Vulcan cucumber in the triple digit temperature.

McCoy scowled. "Nice weather, eh, Spock? Just the way you like it—hotter than hell."

"The upper Sacramento Valley of California is noted for warm summers," Spock said serenely.

With wicked pleasure McCoy thought, _in just a minute, my friend, you'll find things a bit less comfortable than you'd anticipated._ And sure enough, as they neared the broad entrance pavilion, a young woman left the shade and came toward them, her lacy white sundress swaying, her blonde hair smoothed back into a French braid.

McCoy felt like kissing her. "Laurie!" he called out, happily waving his arm. "Glad you could make it!"

Spock came to a halt. Thoroughly enjoying the moment, McCoy watched infinitesimal flickers of expression cross the Vulcan's face as he stared at his approaching nemesis. Openly gloating, McCoy said, "Spock, I hope you don't mind that I invited her. Laurie can keep you company while T'Beth and I are enjoying ourselves in the vortex."

To his credit, Spock managed to regain his composure and offer Doctor Fielding a polite nod. "That is quite all right. Any guest of yours is certainly welcome."

Lauren smiled. "Captain. T'Beth. A beautiful day, isn't it?"

Grabbing her father by the arm, T'Beth tugged him onward through the heat waves. "Come on, we're wasting time! Let's go have some fun!"

The girl's level of excitement mounted as they passed through the amusement park gates and found themselves in a replica of a booming western town, complete with costumed inhabitants engaged in all sorts of frontier activities. There was a crack of gunfire in the near distance. Shouting men rode by on horseback. Buckboard wagons churned clouds of dust into the air as they jolted along the dirt streets.

Keeping to the wooden sidewalks, McCoy and his group came to a row of saddle horses tied outside a noisy saloon. T'Beth broke away and began caressing the patient animals, her face aglow. McCoy fought down a nervous flutter in his stomach. "Hell, we'd better get this kid started before she hyperventilates."

Spock looked up from the data on his wrist phone and studied the weather-beaten structure before them. "According to my information, there are several vortices located throughout the complex. This establishment contains one of them."

"The Snake Pit?" Lauren wrinkled her nose at the building's gaudy sign. "Well, why not?" With a feigned shudder, she pushed through the swinging saloon doors, T'Beth right on her heels.

Spock cocked an eyebrow and started after them.

Dragging his feet, McCoy followed. "Once more," he muttered, "into the breach…"

Spock turned his head. "Shakespeare, Henry the Fifth."

"Shaddup, you."

The cool interior of the saloon was a welcome relief from the inferno outdoors. McCoy relaxed a little as he looked around. In one corner a costumed piano player banged out a lively tune from the past, but the place smelled suspiciously like cheeseburgers. Most of the rustic tables were occupied by humanoids enjoying refreshments delivered to them by outrageously clad women. _Saloon girls_ , he decided with an interested stare, and not bad-looking, either. In fact a couple of them were downright—

"Doctor McCoy."

Spock's measured tones broke into McCoy's study of the period. He joined the others at the polished bar where a cold drink awaited him. He took comfort in noting that Spock had seated himself as far from Lauren as courtesy would allow.

"I have made the arrangements," Spock said. He handed T'Beth and McCoy each a token patterned after old west coinage. "When you are ready, present yourselves to the attendant at the end of the bar. The vortex lies just beyond that curtain." His lean finger indicated a fall of scarlet material that looked like stage draperies.

T'Beth hopped off her barstool. "I'm ready!"

McCoy was sure that he was not. "Let me finish my drink," he stalled. But he needed something considerably stronger than fruit soda. T'Beth stared at him, shifting impatiently from foot to foot as he sipped away. Spock's dark eyes watched him just as closely, a maddening hint of amusement in their depths.

"Could it be," Spock said at last, "that you are experiencing second thoughts?"

For answer McCoy swigged down the last of his soda, and clasping the token in his unsteady hand, got off the barstool. T'Beth let out a yelp and darted ahead with an enthusiasm that soured McCoy's stomach. Leaning toward Lauren he whispered, "Quick, who's the patron saint of rotten ideas?"

She smiled at him sweetly. "I think his name is Leonard."

Shaking his head, McCoy headed for whatever lay behind the infernal curtain.

ooooo

Lauren watched Doctor McCoy follow T'Beth into the vortex and sighed. "Poor guy. I hope he doesn't have too rough a time in there."

Spock quietly relocated to the barstool next to her, so near that she could feel the Vulcan heat radiating from his body. It was a very agreeable sensation, despite the summery weather.

Looking at her, he said, "I'm glad you are here."

Lauren's heart beat faster. She did not know what to make of this man and his sudden shifts of mood. Oh yes—no matter what anyone said about Vulcans, _this_ one had moods, at least when it came to her. This past year he had led her on a strange roller coaster of emotion—from cool and proper captain to moments of tautly restrained passion. Though he was starting to drive her crazy, she found herself increasingly powerless to turn away from him.

Now she managed to say, "It was hard keeping a straight face around McCoy. He thinks he's done something terribly clever, inflicting me on you."

Spock's eyes smiled. "I see no reason to disillusion him."

She wondered how he would look smiling with his entire face, what it would take to draw such a response from him. It was almost a relief when he suggested they go explore other areas of the amusement park. Outside and moving, Laurens worked at distracting herself, but that was not easy with him walking right beside her, sometimes so close that their arms brushed.

The day turned rather humid. Up in the sky puffy clouds hinted at the possibility of an afternoon thundershower. Lauren took a long drink at a water fountain and sank onto a shady bench. "Whew," she said, fanning herself, "it must be 110!"

Spock looked down at her with concern. "I should have realized your discomfort. Is there someplace cooler you would rather go? T'Beth and McCoy will not be back for hours."

It was such a kind thing to say, so unlike the cold way her had once treated her. Lauren did not like remembering those difficult days in the past. She would rather think about today, this moment, with the sunlight glinting off his dark hair while he gave her his full, solicitous attention. "Somewhere cool," she mused, "away from the heat and dust and crowds." One of her favorite haunts came to mind, and she smiled thinking of Spock there with her. "Tell me, do Vulcans like the seashore?"

His slanted eyebrow edged upward. "My skimmer is at your service."

"Great!" Though she had taken him by surprise, Lauren could see that this particular Vulcan fully approved her idea. Already feeling better, she stood up. "As T'Beth would say, let's go have some fun."

ooooo

 _Meanwhile, beyond the vortex…_

Beth was thinking only of a cool drink as she rode her buckskin horse down Sawback Ridge toward the creek. Excited at the smell of water, Duke tossed his head, snorting and dancing until the girl reined in, making him step easy along the dried banks of the creek. They reached water and she jumped down to fill her canteen from a reed-choked pool. Duke drank as Beth splashed her face and neck. The water felt cold against the fierce summer sun.

Suddenly Duke lifted his head, ears cocked upstream. He gave a nicker so deep in his throat that Beth broke out in gooseflesh. Easing up beside the horse, she slid her carbine from the saddle scabbard. The Winchester's solid weight reassured her as she crept toward the tangled growth.

"Who's there?" she called.

All around, the insects fell silent. A hot breeze stirred the reeds where they jutted from the gently flowing stream. Duke nickered again and danced away from the water. For a moment Beth considered following him—then low but clear came the sound of stifled coughing. Swinging the gun to her shoulder, she took aim and said, "Alright, mister! Come on out—real easy!"

The blood pounded in her ears as she stood staring down the barrel, her cheek pressed against the stock. Sweat trickled from under her hat, into her damp collar. "This shoots straight!" she warned.

There was a slight rustling among the reeds, then a pair of mud-smeared hands edged into sight. "Don't shoot,' the man said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His dark hat appeared over the cattails, then his face, streaked red with blood, frightened. Gradually he rose up his full height, waist-deep in the reeds. The creek had spoiled his fancy black suit and brocade vest.

"You alone?" she asked.

He nodded, arms drooping a bit.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "How come you to be hidin' out in our creek, mister? You some kind of desperado?"

"Desper…des…" He frowned, pressing a hand to his forehead as if pained. Blood oozed from a sizeable lump above his left eye.

Beth lowered the carbine. This fellow didn't look so dangerous, not like the sly-faced fugitives on the wanted posters in town. She ventured a few steps closer. Judging by the pallor of his skin, he had not been long in the sun. White as a fish belly and his hands looked baby soft. They made Beth's palms feel gritty and calloused. "You must be city folk," she said, keeping hold of the Winchester. "A gambler, maybe."

"Why don't you put that gun down," he drawled. "I'm not even armed."

"How do I know that?" she snapped. "You a Texan?"

He shook his head and winced. "I'm from…Georgia. I think."

"I think you're a cheatin' gambler. Bought into the wrong game an' got yourself walloped good, dumped in the hills. Well, serves you right." He was trembling like a regular coward. "Come on outa there!" Instead, he dropped as if going for a gun. Beth squeezed off a shot meant to singe the cattails, but in the deathly silence that followed, the girl feared she had hit him after all.

Beth waded in and found the man lying in a muddy swirl of water. Gingerly she looked for a bullet hole. "Well, I'll be," she murmured in relief. Her shot hadn't touched him. He was passed out cold. But now what? Whoever he was, she couldn't rightly leave him here for the buzzards…"


	2. Chapter 2

Bundled in a coat, Spock stood at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, but his eyes were not on the restless water. They were on Lauren Fielding as she flipped off her sandals and dropped her purse into the sand.

"I bet you've never done this in your life!" she said. Hiking up her skirt, she ran barefoot toward the waves. Foam rushed around her ankles. She laughed and hopped about in the surf, her cheeks flushed, stray curls of hair tossed by the cool salt breeze. "This is wonderful!" she called over the sound of the breakers.

 _Wonderful indeed,_ thought Spock. Here was a side of her that he had never seen before—as spontaneous and carefree as a child. Captivated by the sight, he could not help smiling—faintly, discreetly, and they were alone on this secluded stretch of beach.

Lauren put her hands on her hips and faced him. "Captain, are you just going to stand there? Take off your shoes. Get some sand between your toes. Come on."

The invitation took him aback. Then surprising even himself, he reached down and slipped off his shoes and socks. The sand felt cold and moist under his feet as he moved a few tentative steps nearer to Lauren and the foamy surf. It was not, as she had accused, his first time doing this, but it had been many, many years since he left his footprints on a beach. Perhaps too many. Only the delight in Lauren's eyes kept him from feeling ridiculous. Then her expression changed. Gradually it grew so warm and inviting that he could not help but respond.

"Captain…" she began and went silent.

"Spock," he said. "Please…call me Spock. We are not in uniform. We are not even in shoes."

She smiled at that. Tipping back her head, she gazed up at the gulls wheeling in the sky. Behind her an unusually large swell gathered force and rushed for shore.

"Watch out!" Spock shouted. He started toward her, but there was no time. The wave knocked Lauren to her knees and dissipated in a wash of spume that swirled over Spock's feet.

Lending her a hand, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Just a little wet." Half-soaked was more accurate, but she got up laughing and wrung the seawater from the bottom of her dress. "I love the ocean. Always an adventure."

Spock moved with her away from the surf. "You speak as if you come here often."

"I practically grew up here. Well, not in this particular spot, but I spent a lot of summers with my grandparents down the coast near Carmel." She squinted southward along the shore where breakers pounded against stone outcroppings. "They ended up willing the place to my brother and I. The old Stemple beach house is ours now."

Spock gazed at her curiously. "Your grandparents' surname was S-t-e-m-p-l-e?"

She turned to him. "Yes, that's the spelling. Joe and Phyllis Stemple. Why?"

From long habit Spock hesitated before revealing information of a personal nature. "It…so happens that I also have Earth ancestors by that name."

"Really!" She seemed intrigued by the coincidence. "Were any of them Jewish?"

Spock's eyebrows climbed steeply. "In fact, they were."

"Well, isn't that something," Lauren said, and Spock found himself nodding.

ooooo

The sun blazed down fiercely as Beth grasped the stranger by his limp shoulders and shook him. His eyelids cracked open and widened a little when she splashed cool water on his face, washing away the dirt and blood. Duke was not much help as Beth helped him onto the saddle, and the big horse clearly resented her climbing up as well. But eventually the three of them were heading back up the ridge toward Chimney cabin.

The ride was mercifully short. At the cabin Beth slid off Duke and eased the southerner down beside her. Despite his wobbly legs they made it inside, where he flopped onto the dusty bunk and gazed at her with troubled blue eyes.

"Well," she declared, "now that I've rescued your tender hide, s'pose you least give me your name."

He sighed, rubbing a smooth hand over his face. "Coy. My name is Leonard Coy."

"Ain't never heard of any Coys."

"I ain't—I _told_ you I'm not from around here," he said in an uncertain voice. "At least, I don't think so." His eyes roamed over the rough-cut boards of the cabin, then squeezed shut.

"You in pain?" Beth asked.

Another sigh. "Yes, my head hurts like hell, but I'll live."

"I can fetch a doctor. There's one in town, half a day's ride."

He looked at her with a bewildered expression. "I…I'm not sure, but I think I _am_ a doctor."

"You think!" With a disbelieving snort, Beth pulled off her hat and began swatting cobwebs from the shelves. "Well, Doc, nothing much here to eat but a couple tins of beans. Pa's bringing up supplies." She turned around and caught him staring at her dark hair braid. His gaze shifted to her face.

"How old are you?" he asked in a gentle voice.

Beth tossed the braid back over her shoulder where it belonged. "Old enough. An' don't you go gettin' any notions, mister. My Pa's a far sight stronger than you, an' mean as sin."

His eyebrows raised up and he broke into an odd little smile. "I'll try to mind my manners, miss. But I suppose you have a name, too?"

"Beth. Beth Grayson."

She turned away and rummaged through a box of old clothing until she found a shirt and trousers that might fit him, along with a pair of socks. "These ain't too pretty," she said, tossing them his way, "but at least they're dry. Unless you have some kind of objection to honest work clothes."

Coy held up the faded plaid shirt and denim, a peculiar far-away look on his round face. "I think these will do fine, Beth. Thank you."

The girl tactfully wandered outside. There was a dampness in the air, and a long line of thunderclouds building above the mountains. Better be rain. With so many creeks drying up, the cattle were getting mighty restless. She loosened the cinch on Duke's saddle and staked him out in the shade of an oak tree beside the porch. Then she brought the Winchester and her canteen into the cabin.

Coy was dressed, sitting hunched over on the bunk, holding his head. He did not seem to notice as she hid the gun behind the stove. He looked to be in such pain that Beth reached into the spidery depths of the cupboard for Pa's emergency store. The bottle had accumulated quite a layer of dust. Wiping the bottle on her pant leg, she said, "Age has a beneficial effect on whiskey."

Coy lifted his head. "Whiskey, you say?"

She handed it over. He uncorked the bottle, sniffed, and took a swallow. "You ain't really no doctor," she said. "Are you?"

He stared at her a second before taking another swallow. Returning the bottle, he stretched out on the bunk as if any sudden move might shatter him. Beth edged nearer. In the pale light he looked gray and weary and not much of a threat at all. "Maybe you ain't no gambler, either. How come you to be on Grayson land in such a condition?"

His fingertips found the dark scab forming along his brow. He winced. "There were loose stones in that shelf above the creek. I…lost my footing and fell."

"Well, that might be true enough," she said, "but it still don't really answer my question. Does it, mister?"

Coy looked at her with those eyes blue as the summer sky. "Girl, this is God's own truth. I don't really know how I got here…" his voice trailed away to a whisper, "and I can't think of how to get back."

The cabin dimmed as a cloud slid across the sun. There was a distant rumble of thunder.

"That don't make no sense," Beth said, fighting down an odd shiver. She hugged her arms tightly across her lean body and suddenly wished she were not alone with this strange man.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said.

"I ain't scared," she protested.

Coy looked at her stubbornly set jaw, at her odd ears and angular features, and his eyes filled with tears. "You remind me very much of…of some other girl…but I can't seem to remember—" His voice choked off.

As he lay struggling with his emotions, Beth couldn't help but feel sorry for him again. "Hey mister," she said in a gentle voice, "now don't go frettin' yourself. Everything's gonna be alright."

ooooo

Mellow afternoon sunlight glinted upon the ocean surface. The relentless tide action sent each wave rushing higher onto the beach. Lauren's dress had dried and now she was searching for shells and other small specimens of marine life while Spock sat watching. Soon they must board the skimmer, but he resisted the thought of leaving. These pleasant hours with Doctor Fielding had passed much too quickly.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lauren stopped what she was doing to glance at her wrist chronometer. "Almost time to go!" she called.

He stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. Lauren came over to get her sandals and noticed that his shoes were already in place. "Cold feet?" she asked.

Spock considered the phrase with its diverse meanings and chose to respond to its literal interpretation. "Yes, they were going numb."

Lauren looked distressed. "Oh no. You've probably been half frozen all this time."

"To the contrary," Spock reassured her. "I have found the afternoon most agreeable."

Her blue eyes shone. "Really, Captain?"

"Really, Lauren." Spock spoke with gentle irony. "Aside from your unfortunate habit of clinging to military forms of address."

She glanced down at the sand shyly. Her cheeks, already made pink by the sea breeze, deepened in color. The sound of the waves retreated, the sun paled before the sudden depth of feeling she invoked in him.

Reality intruded in a rude blast of contemporary music. Turning, Spock saw four boisterous youths coming down to the beach. A small sigh escaped him.

Lauren picked up her purse. Softly she said, "Spock…we'd better move along. It's getting late."

He nodded without looking at her. Finally she had spoken his name, but a stirring of disquiet tarnished any pleasure at the development. Would he ever move beyond the past and its painful relationships? Could he ever give himself fully to this woman—to any woman?

The trip back to VantageWest passed in near silence. Rumbles of thunder greeted them as Spock parked the skimmer. As yet there were no strikes directly overhead and they reached the Snake Pit without being caught in any of the rain showers visible in other parts of the valley. A sign glowed in the saloon window: _Sorry, no travel tokens will be accepted at this time._

Inside, the piano player performed for a weary-looking group of male Andorians. The rest of the place was empty of tourists. With Lauren as his side, Spock went straight to the bar and addressed the idle attendant. "Is there some difficulty with the vortex?"

The young costumed human eyed him curiously. "No sir, we're just shutting down for regularly scheduled maintenance. Everyone will be coming through shortly. Would you two like something to drink while you're waiting?"

Not quite satisfied with the employee's report, Spock shook his head and went to a table. Lauren ordered some orange juice and joined him. Moments later, four blue-skinned travelers emerged from the vortex and were met by their companions. Talking excitedly in their native language, they swept out of the saloon together. The man at the piano stood up, stretched, and ambled to the bar where he struck up a conversation with the attendant. Several more minutes went by.

Spock found Lauren's eyes on him. "They're late," she said, "at least according to my chrono. But maybe it got damaged by the wave."

"No, it's correct." There was nothing wrong with Spock's inner time sense. "T'Beth and Doctor McCoy are seven-point-four minutes past their scheduled return."

"I'm a little worried," admitted Lauren.

Spock could not bring himself to say there was no reason for worry. He, too, was troubled by the delay in a supposedly "safe and fun entertainment breakthrough". How much did he actually know about the vortex process? Due to patent laws, its most sensitive workings were a closely guarded trade secret. He had abandoned his daughter and his friend to the good judgment of the Federation Safety Commission—in other words, to a dark unknown.

He waited another fifteen minutes before approaching the bar with his concerns. The attendant offered more of the gentle reassurances that no doubt had been drilled into him at some employee training session, then presented Spock with conciliatory coupons for free refreshments compliments of the Vantage Corporation.

Spock felt as if his intelligence were being insulted. Unfortunately he had no authority outside of Starfleet. Barely containing his annoyance, he said, "Very well, young man, I will continue to wait—but not indefinitely. When I come back, I will expect to consult with your supervisor."

The attendant did not seem at all impressed.

ooooo

There were beans for supper, served cold on dented tin plates. Perched beside Beth on the bunk, Coy picked at the food before setting his plate on the gritty floorboards. "Sorry, guess I'm not hungry."

"You _must_ be feeling poorly," Beth said, passing along her canteen.

McCoy hesitated before swallowing the creek water. Heaven only knew what microbes it contained. And then he thought, _Now why in hell am I worrying about that? I've probably been doing fine on this kind of water up until now._ But why couldn't he remember? As he lay back, his emotions surged dangerously near the surface again. Like a desperate litany he told himself, _calm down…the confusion won't last…it's only from my injury…in a little while everything will come clear…_ The words rattled around inside him, as if he were an empty shell of a man.

Beth rose and began clearing away supper. Another thunderclap rumbled outside, nearer this time. With the storm moving in, the temperature had dropped considerably. A faint, distant smell of rain blew through the open doorway.

Briefly Coy wondered about the hour. Between the storm clouds and the fading daylight, he could scarcely see the pine knots on the cabin walls. The stubborn ache in his head made him want to close his eyes and sleep away this whole bad dream.

Finishing up, Beth pulled a dusty container from the shelf. "Here's some tobacco—stale, I'll grant you, but better than nothin'. There's a pipe here, too."

Coy shook his head a bit too forcefully. The stab of pain took his breath. "No! Most certainly not." He wondered what she was doing with an illegal substance.

Beth shrugged. Prying off the lid, she began tamping brown tobacco flakes into a round-bowled pipe.

"I said I don't want any," Coy repeated.

"An' I heard you," she declared, striking a match against the wall. Like an expert she balanced the pipe in her mouth, drawing the flame to the tobacco until it caught. She casually exhaled a fragrant cloud.

Stunned, Coy rose to his feet. He watched her take in another lungful of smoke and could restrain himself no longer. Striding over, he snatched the pipe from her astonished lips and shouted, "What do you think you're doing!"

Her eyes hard on him, she backed toward the stove. "Mister," she said in a cool and steady voice, "s'pose you pass that back, right now, an' go lie down for a spell."

"But don't you realize—" Coy glanced down at the pipe, still hot in his grip, and his mind recoiled with confusion. _Horses…rustic cabins…a rifle-toting, tobacco-smoking girl._ He sensed that it should all mean something to him, but it didn't. He felt like he should _know_ this girl, yet she was a stranger. "I…I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe I had no right—but you're so young—and this stuff's not even _legal."_

"Not legal! Then why's it sittin' in every store? Mister, your brains is scrambled."

Reluctantly Coy handed over the pipe. He went to the doorway and gazed out at the storm so he would not see her smoking. Jagged forks of lightning streaked across the darkening sky, ending in rumbles that vibrated through his boots. He could remember being frightened by such storms as a small boy, but the fear he felt now had nothing to do with thunder. With an effort he asked, "This _is_ Earth, isn't it?"

There was uneasy laughter behind him. "You jokin', mister?"

He turned, suddenly determined to know all the facts, however painful. "I'm dead serious, Beth. Where are we? What year is it?"

Her smile faded. Pulling the pipe from her lips, she said, "All right. This is California, July of 1875."

Coy sagged against the doorframe. A sizzling flash rent the air and a boom rocked the cabin. Duke's scream of fright sent Beth racing outside. Numbly Coy moved along the porch, his hair whipped by a dusty gale. Beth had the horse by its bridle, trying to calm him, but Duke's eyes were white-rimmed with terror.

"Get the canteen!" she yelled over the tempest. "An' the Winchester—it's behind the stove!"

Coy gaped at her in disbelief. Was she going to ride in this weather? Then he heard brush crackling and caught an acrid scent driven along the wind.

Beth screamed "Fire!" and he whirled to face a solid wall of flame. For an instant Coy's heart stopped altogether. Then he was running. Canteen and Winchester in hand, he leapt off the porch and scrambled onto the panicky horse, behind Beth. Fiery heat reached for them as Duke wheeled and bucked wildly, resisting the bit tugging at his mouth. A gust of wind brought cinders to his flank, and he bolted.

ooooo

Spock's rigid formality betrayed the depths of his irritation as he conversed with the Snake Pit supervisor. Then the costumed woman walked away and Lauren watched Spock cut across the empty saloon to their table.

In a tight voice he reported, "She claims that such delays are not uncommon during electric storms." Taking a seat, he steepled his lean fingers on the rustic tabletop. "It seems that VantageWest advertising does mention sensitivity to atmospheric conditions—in very fine print." As an afterthought, he quietly said, "I should never have allowed T'Beth to go."

"You couldn't have known this would happen," Lauren protested and was quick to add, "not that anything really _has_ happened, apart from their being a little late."

"One hour and twenty-seven minutes late."

It somehow seemed worse, spoken in such a blunt, precise manner. This was starting to feel like a nightmare to Lauren. Spock's unusual display of self-recrimination showed how deeply _he_ was frustrated—and alarmed. Realizing the uselessness of offering more empty reassurance, she pulled a pamphlet out of her purse. Its contents had been making bothering her ever since the delay.

Handing it to Spock, she said, "Do you know there are people who won't go through the vortex for religious reasons? Someone was passing these out in the parking lot."

He read aloud from the paper. "The vortex experience goes beyond even traditional role-playing to obscure one's self-identity and moral standards…"

"I've heard you raise those same objections today. There are some interesting firsthand accounts."

Quickly scanning the pamphlet, Spock rose. "I'm taking this to the park office. Will you wait here?"

"Of course," she answered. "They might come through any time."

Then the saloon doors swung closed behind Spock, and she was alone with her worries.

ooooo

Coy hugged Beth's slim waist as he struggled to hold his precarious balance atop the galloping horse. Up ahead, the sun-dried grass burst into flame. Duke reared and slashed the smoky air with his hooves, then plunged down a slope, slapping the rider's faces into tree foliage.

"Hang on!" shouted Beth.

Coy saw a gap coming up fast and clung tight, but Duke's clumsy leap unseated him. He landed in the dirt with a force that took his wind. Dazed, he watched bushes flare up around him like torches. Duke plunged back into sight, whinnying frantically as Beth whipped him toward the blaze.

She thrust an arm down to Coy. "Get up here! Hurry!"

Flames licking at his backside, Coy scuttled up behind the girl, and Duke took off running. With a fierce lash of reins Beth urged the horse down a narrow deer trail. Coy's head dropped, his cheek pressed to the girl's dark hair. Smoke choked the sky like an evil blanket. No flashes now to light their way—only the angry rumble of thunder somewhere above. Hot ash drifted down in a hellish rain.

Coy felt the girl coughing and pressed his mouth to her shoulder, fighting for breath. Suddenly she reined up. He straightened in the saddle and found their path blocked by a sheet of roaring fire. Duke whirled in a tight circle, snorting with terror.

"We're trapped!" Beth cried desperately.

ooooo

In a lonely corner of the Snake Pit, Lauren huddled over a cup of coffee. She sincerely wished Spock were not off prowling through the complex. She considered phoning him and changed her mind. Taking a sip, she swallowed pensively, her eyes alternating between the saloon doors and the curtain behind the bar.

Stormy flashes lit the summer dusk outside. With a shiver, Lauren glanced out the windows at the menacing cloud cover. Thunder rumbled nearby. The saloon lamps flickered. This really _was_ looking more and more like a nightmare, but she wouldn't be any help to Spock if she started falling apart. What an incredible notion that still seemed: _helping the captain._ Yet this man she was coming to know not only accepted her help now, but actually seemed pleased by it in his own quiet Vulcan manner.

An explosive thunderclap rattled the rickety-looking window frames. Lauren gave a start and was relieved to see Spock enter the saloon. She stood up, anxious for news. "Did you find out anything?"

"Nothing," Spock said, making little attempt to hide his exasperation. "I was told that the pamphlet is not accurate, that the vortex provides a 'safe, entertaining experience.'" Dropping her pamphlet on the table, he went to stand at a window, hands tightly clasped behind his back.

Lauren tasted her now lukewarm coffee, made a face, and tossed the flimsy cup into a disposal bin shaped like a spittoon. After a stretch, she joined Spock and they watched hailstones ricochet over the dusty western street.

ooooo

Both ends of the trail were lost in flames, with the main blaze swooping toward them from the hill above. Their only escape lay through a tangle of brush and young oaks. A person might make it, but not a horse. Coy jumped down and grabbed Beth from the saddle. "Come on!" he yelled, pulling her along. "This way!"

With astonishing strength she wrenched free, making a grab for Duke's reins, but the horse reared and backed away.

"Leave him!" Coy hollered. "Leave him or we'll all burn!" He caught hold of her left arm. She spun around and punched him but he held tight, dragging her from the panic-stricken animal into a manzanita thicket. A hard fist landed across his mouth. Tasting blood, he tried to seize the offending arm. She countered with a kick to his shinbone. Half-blinded with pain, he gave her a shake and yelled in her face, "We have to save ourselves!" Tears welled in her eyes and his voice softened. "Beth, we _have_ to…"

She nodded. He took her by the hand and forced a path for them. Sharp branches tore at his clothes and scratched his exposed skin. Near the bottom of the slope he stumbled into a small clearing. Not far below, there was a meandering line of cattails and willows.

"The creek!" said Beth.

The next gust of wind brought flames leaping through the brush. Beth set off down the hill and Coy followed. A minute later they were cooling themselves in creek water, watching fire lick into the parched grass near the edge.

"I'd feel safer if this stream was wider," Coy said, "but we might just be alright."

Beth sank down in the pool and by the fire's eerie glow her smudged face looked desolate. Coy suspected that she was no stranger to wildfires—or loss. His voice husky from smoke, he said, "I'm sorry about your horse. But who knows, maybe he got out of there somehow."

"Maybe." Her dark eyes met his, full of solemn gratitude. "You likely saved my life, Coy."

A little embarrassed, he looked aside and hunkered lower in the water. "Well, you did me a few favors, too."

Thunder jarred the earth. A sudden load of hailstones pelted down, then mingled with sooty raindrops, becoming a downpour that sent plumes of smoke from the dying flames on the hillside.

"It's over," Beth said.

As Coy gazed at the vanquished brushfire, his relief was tempered by a nagging sense of disquiet far more troubling than his stubborn headache. _Who was he, really?_ _Where did he belong?_ A lightheaded feeling began to creep over him. There was a dizzy sensation of slippage, of the creek bed giving way. Startled, he cried out to Beth—and in that terrible, wonderful instant he _knew_ this girl—and himself.

Floundering, McCoy thrust his hand toward Spock's daughter, but a dark whirl of motion seized him. Somehow he landed on his feet. Lights came on, revealing a small chamber enclosed on one end by scarlet drapes. Dressed in shorts, T'Beth stood safe beside him.

"Welcome back, pardners!" boomed a recording. "Just head on through the curtain for more rip-roarin' fun at VantageWest, your doorway to adventure!"

Catching hold of T'Beth's hand, McCoy numbly shoved aside the drapery and walked into the deathly still saloon. For one awful moment he thought he had entered another VantageWest nightmare. Then he spied two figures standing by the windows. With a cry T'Beth broke free and ran to her father. She threw her arms around him and held on as if she would never let him go, and for once Spock did not look embarrassed.

Lauren came over and welcomed McCoy with a swift, kindly embrace. "Something went wrong," she said. "It had to do with the storm. You alright?"

"Yeah. I think so." His fingers wandered over his forehead. The pain was gone, the skin smooth and uninjured. Not quite believing the evidence, he glanced down at himself. Twenty-third century street clothes, clean and dry. It was as if he had never stepped into the vortex. "This place should be shut down and investigated," he griped, heading for the door. He heard the others following him into the rain-fresh summer evening. Stopping on the boardwalk, he gazed upward and inhaled the cool, clear air. The storm had moved along, leaving patches of velvety sky bright with stars.

"Doctor." Spock moved in beside him and said dryly, "Was it not entertaining?"

The anger brewing in McCoy flared to the surface. "I bet you'd like to know, wouldn't you? Well then, maybe _you_ should've gone with T'Beth and learned firsthand." He poked Spock's chest with an index finger. "Dammit, you _are_ her father."

Lightning flashed in a distant bank of clouds. Holding Spock's eyes, McCoy waited for a rumble that never came. Sensing the tension of their companions, he backed off.

Lauren spoke, no doubt trying to smooth things over. "T'Beth…were there horses?"

T'Beth took her father's hand and gazed teary-eyed at the street. Her voice quavered. "There was a horse, alright…and a brushfire."

"A fire?" Lauren turned from the stricken girl to Spock. " _That_ doesn't sound very safe… _or_ entertaining."

McCoy snorted. "Wait until you hear."

"Yes," Spock said, "I expect a thorough report of what transpired. As you may recall, Doctor, I was opposed to the idea from the beginning."

McCoy could have punched the Vulcan. "Later for the debriefing, _Captain sir._ I'm hungry enough to eat a snarth."

T'Beth wiped her eyes. "Please don't. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. I wouldn't take no for an answer. I wouldn't listen. Doctor McCoy, if you never talk to me again, I'll understand."

McCoy shook his head in amazement. "Darlin', I'm not mad at you."

"You're mad at my father."

McCoy barely kept from rolling his eyes heavenward. "Okay, okay. It's been one heck of a long day. Why don't we just cut our losses and find a restaurant?"

"An excellent suggestion," Spock said under his breath.

"See?" McCoy favored the Vulcan with a broad, toothy grin. "Your father and I are in perfect agreement. Why, the next thing you know, he'll want to jump right through that vortex and get his ass burned, too."

Spock gave him a stony look.

"Dinner sounds great," Lauren chimed in, "and it's free." She waved a fistful of meal coupons between the feuding men. "Plenty of restaurants right here in the park. What will it be? Chinese? Offworld? Pioneer favorites?"

"Offworld," Spock said immediately.

T'Beth made a face but offered no other objection.

Lauren nudged McCoy. Without saying a word, her eyes managed to make him feel downright ashamed. After all, he had used her to get under Spock's skin. Her day with the Vulcan couldn't have been any picnic, either.

"Well?" she prompted.

With a shrug he said, "Anything." But he could not resist one last grumble. "Anything but cold beans and barbecue."


End file.
